Because of a Snowy Day in March
by Cheshire Blue Kitten
Summary: "Right now, I'm still picking up the pieces of my heart." A eulogic soliloquy in ten parts. WARNING: Character Death


PART I

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I met Arthur for the first time at the coffee shop on Main.

It was a holiday, the last day of spring break. It had been snowing, and the melted sludge around my old converse had soaked all the way to my socks, making me shiver in the sharp wind. I checked my watch, and, with the knowledge that I wouldn't be late for my study session if I stopped to dry out a bit, I ducked into Bella's Coffee Shop and Restaurant.

It was crowded. I stood, pressed against the wall next to the glass door, behind a couple, wrapped together in one scarf. They were talking softly, whispering gentle words of love and affection to one another. I sighed inwardly. It had been a year since my last breakup, and the thought of a relationship was just tedious.

I ordered a plain cup of black coffee from the seemingly overworked barista, who handed it over with a tired smile. I turned away from the counter, and looked for a place to sit. There only happened to be one seat not filled, across from a slight man with a laptop and a steaming cup of tea.

I sat down across from him, unzipping my jacket in the warmth of the coffee house. He looked up from his computer with a look of slight irritance. "Can I help you?" Four words expressed his displeasure at company.

I smiled at him anyway. "Sorry. There's no place else to sit." He gave a look around the room, 'hmph'ing in affirmation, then went back to his laptop.

It gave me time to study his face. From his dialect, he was obviously British, but it wasn't too surprising, since the university hosted many foreign students. His visage was almost effeminate, with a touch of masculinity that gave him the air of beauty, even if the features themselves were undesirable.

Pale skin and light, shaggy hair, a soft jaw and bright green almond eyes framed by thick lashes added to the feminine look, contrasting with low-set, thick eyebrows. It was an odd combination, sure, but an exotic one. He was of slight build, thin and lanky in a healthy way, and short. Most of the foreign male students were extremely tall, which made this man interesting.

He looked up suddenly, giving me an exasperated look. "Is there something on my face? It's very rude to stare." I almost laughed at the irony of his offensive tone.

"Oh, sorry, dude. I'm majoring in art programs. It makes a guy people-watch more than normal." I gave him a big grin, and he raised a single, prominent eyebrow.

"Well, at least you're not an English major. They're all bonkers." I laughed, and he gave me a half-smile.

I looked at my watch. "Oh, man, I gotta go. See ya 'round?" I stood up, zipping my bomber jacket back on. "I'm Alfred, by the way."

"Arthur Kirkland."

I grinned again and dashed out.

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PART II

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As it turned out, Arthur was double majoring in English and psychology. He told me that he'd always had a knack for psych, and he read people pretty easily. I told him he should come to my study group for the general courses. He agreed, with much pleading, and I learned that he was good at everything. Except maths.

"Damn. This is high schooler work, and it's bloody difficult!" He ranted, tapping his pencil on the table rapidly.

I leaned over and cocked my head, reading the sheet sideways. "You're looking at it too hard, Artie."

He sputtered. "Do not call me by that atrocious nick name!"

I pointed at the sheet, ignoring his protests. "All you have to do is shift both variables here, here, and here."

He stopped, looked at the paper, and groaned. "I should have seen it. This is humiliating."

"Okay, fair's fair. Help me with this essay. What the hell do gender roles have to do with anything in MacBeth?"

His eyes lit up, and he began rapidly, empathically, enthusiastically explaining something that he prided himself in.

It was only then that I realized I was falling in love.

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PART III

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We went on our first date on the Saturday of the third weekend of march.

Arthur was actually the one who asked, timidly, if I wanted to go to a movie sometime. When I grinned and told him I'd pick him up outside of his appartment, relief washed over his face like a tidal wave.

I actually walked to his place that day, choosing to enjoy the warmth of the coming summer. He gave me a surprised look when he opened the door to his appartment, and said, "You're early."

I smiled. "I thought we'd walk. It's really nice out."

His eyes crinkled around the edges. "Wonderful, love."

A slight breeze twisted in his hair as I lead him to a small restaurant downtown, a few blocks from the movie theatre. There was an afternoon matinee for a small, but much-argued about, indie film with a supposedly gripping plot.

We ordered a large salad to share, a chilled tea for him, a coke for me. We sat down outside, at a little patio table, and waited for our order. He began to tell me about his home after prompting from me, and midway through I took one of his hands on top of the table. He blushed red and tried to hide it by shaking his hair into his face.

But he never tried to pull away.

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PART IV

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I learned later that Arthur was not as naive as I was about dating and sexual relationships. He'd been in numerous ones before, unlike my huge total of two. When we kissed, all of my inhibitions were washed away. My name was of no concern. The only thing I knew that was tangible was Arthur.

Arthur.

He said he wanted to take things slow. That he'd jumped into so many relationships without knowing the person he slept with, and that he'd never really been loved in the way I adored him.

We never made it to the bedroom.

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PART V

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I hadn't seen him in two weeks. Eventually, I decided to visit his appartment, to make sure he was alright. When he opened the door, there were dark circles under his eyes, but his clothes were clean and his hair washed. I reached to touch his shoulder. He flinched.

"Is everything okay, Artie?" He didn't scold me for using the nick name. Instead, he looked at me blankly, and said:

"You know that college student on the news that was raped?"

My eyes widened. "No..."

"It was me."

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PART VI

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We were walking in the park when he broke the news to me.

It was late August, but the cool evenings spoke of a cold autumn and an even colder winter. We followed the path from the front entrance to the middle of the park by lake, to a secluded spot behind large chesnut trees. We sat on one of the benches. Arthur took a package of crackers from his pocket and began breaking them into chunks to the ducks that swam up, begging for food.

"Is there something wrong, Art?" I asked, nudging his foot with the toe of my shoe.

"Yes."

I quit talking. He was going to tell me, and I knew if he got like this he would clam up if I bothered him about it. When he was done feeding the ducks, he sighed, and leaned back into the crook of my shoulder. One hand began playing with his hair, the other in his hand.

Nestled against me, he whispered, "I'm dying, Alfred."

I stopped stroking his hair. "What?"

"You know, last month? I... I have AIDS."

I froze. Those three words made my heart stop. That could never happen. Not to him. Not to us. My world began to crumble.

I crushed him to me, whispering his name like my-his-life depended on it.

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PART VII

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It was getting worse.

He was admitted to the hospital after a small, three-day flu almost killed him. Arthur was still very weak, but he still completed all of his school work with flying colors. It had been a year, and he was getting progressively sicker.

"Alfred, love?" He asked one day while I was studying with him in his hospital room.

"Yeah?"

He kept writing his essay while he talked, not taking his eyes off his computer screen. "I'm going back to England for the semester."

I looked up. "What? But why?"

"My parents wanted me to see the best doctor England to see if there's anyway the disease can be slowed." He looked up and gave a small smile. "They don't trust American doctors."

I gave him a pout. "But I'll miss you."

He leaned over and kissed me on the lips. "I'll miss you, too, love."

.

PART VIII

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The day before he left for England was the last time I saw him.

I got an urgent call three days after Christmas. It was from Arthur's parents, saying that the doctor had said that he was going to pass away in the next week, and that Arthur had told them to get me to England. They had already paid for a flight.

It wasn't like in movies or books or short stories. I didn't get there to find he'd miraculously recovered. I didn't get to fly home to America with him to go back to school. I didn't even get there in time to hear his dying words. To tell him how much I loved him.

He passed as I flew over the Atlantic ocean.

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PART IX

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I attended his funeral while I was there, walking in a daze.

Living in a dream.

Waiting to wake up.

.

PART X

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I visit his grave in England every year.

I always tell him about school, my life, my job. It never gets old, going there. I've never told anyone the true reason behind my yearly trips to the UK, but my friends know it's important. I always bring a bouquet of red tulips and white daisies. They were always his favorite, he said.

I really don't know when I'll move on. Right now, I'm still picking up the pieces of my heart. Still thanking Arthur for never hurting me. Still mourning him. Still loving him.

Because of a snowy day in March.

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_Author's Note_

Tradefic for another friend. Thank you, darling.

I hope it was alright. Sorry if it was a bit OOC. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.


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